Whatever Happened to Wilson?
by Dejah Thoris
Summary: This is why you should never watch a WWF match after a Tom Hanks movie. R&R please!


Author's Note: I recently went to see _Castaway, with Tom Hanks. I loved it. I mean, LOVED it. I love survival stories. __Hatchet, __Island of the Blue Dolphins, you name it, I've probably read it. So I liked the bit in the middle. The beginning and the end were just pieces of filler. _

Now, there were really only two characters in the movie. There was, of course, Chuck. We all know that. Oh, and there were the other people—the love interest, the buddy, the sculptor, the little kid who received a Snickers bar, a Discman, and an Elvis Presley CD—but they don't count. 

So, what happened to the other guy, the most interesting character in the story? He was last seen somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, floating off to sea. I am speaking of Wilson, of course. He was definitely the most well defined character in the movie. I mean, Chuck cried when he was gone. I did too. So what happened to him? 

Well. Watching a movie right after seeing a pro wrestling match tends to give you ideas. So, without further ado… 

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO WILSON? 

The sun was bright on the Florida seas. The entire WWF was on the beach, having nothing better to do. Mostly they were sleeping. 

A passing humor columnist snitched a can of Steve Austin's beer and strolled off to investigate an exploding whale. A crowd of angry Democrats was chasing a guy named Chad. A small Cuban boy in an inner tube was making a sandcastle, illuminated by flashbulbs. The satire fish were spawning, and a small boy was crying because his older sister was telling him scary stories about barracudas. (What? They were all true. Even the one about the ghost hammerhead. _Especially the one about the ghost hammerhead.) _

Al Snow, having consumed a quantity of Surge, was strolling along the beach, Head under his arm. As he rhapsodized to Head about the wonders of warm weather when Michigan was buried under four feet of snow (No, I'm not bitter in the least), she slipped out of his grasp and went rolling along the sand. 

Al stopped. "HEAD!" he yelled. People stared. "HEAD!" he yelled again, and went running along the sand to rescue his companion. 

By the time he found her, she was nestled in a sandcastle, half-buried in sand and cigarette butts. Al Snow dropped to his knees and dug her out. 

"HEAD!" he yelled again. "I'm so glad I found you! Don't you ever do that to me again!" 

As he dug her out, his fingers struck something else. He kept digging, wondering what it was. He finally uncovered the object. 

It was a volleyball. It was very battered. It had dried grass stuck in it in a Don King/Chia pet hairdo. It had a face drawn on it, in what seemed to be dried blood. Despite this, it was grinning. 

Al nodded and grinned. "So," he said to Head, "you've found a boyfriend, have you? What's his name?" 

The volleyball rolled over, revealing the word "Wilson" printed on it. 

Al nodded. "So," he said to Wilson, "tell me about yourself." 

He strolled off along the beach, Head under one arm, Wilson under the other. "Four years on a desert island? Wow." 

FOUR WEEKS LATER…

Al Snow opened his locker, where Head and Wilson were having some quality time. A quantity of Superballs fell out. 

Al whistled. "You guys have been keeping pretty busy, haven't you?" He gathered up all the Superballs and put them in a bag. "My little girl is a mommy now. She's all grown up, isn't she?" He was very proud of Head. He just knew that she was going to be a good mother to all her little Superballs. 

He counted them later. There were twenty. He named them Mick, Austin, Steve, Debra, Rocky, Misty, Ash, Brock, Rebecca, Spencer, Audrey, Brian, John, Dolly, Jeff, Gary, Maureen, Harold, Rachel, and Barbie. 

He showed them to Mick Foley. "Guess what? Head and Wilson had kids! I'm a grandfather!" He went skipping away, whistling a tune. 

Mick stared after him. "I think he's finally gone off the deep end." 

Debra grinned at him. "I thought you put them in there." 

Mick shook his head. "Only five of them." He glanced at Debra. "You didn't…" 

"I didn't do anything," Debra said. 

"And I didn't tell anyone else about my idea," Mick said. 

Debra shrugged. "Weird." 

I told my little brother that the fifteen Superballs he had lost had been eaten by barracudas. He never suspected a thing. 


End file.
